


Gallery

by Aithilin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 19:42:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11214948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: Nyx had found the little gallery by accident. He doesn't usually see so many people there.





	Gallery

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted over at my [Tumblr](http://aithilin.tumblr.com/).

Most of the history of Lucian art was showcased in the Citadel, in the Halls of History where all the official portraits hung. In the little maze of chambers that branched off from the reception and welcome desks, where there was still a steady rotation of bored guards and a frantic curator rushing from one room to the next in the attempt to place whatever new item had just entered the royal family’s private collection. But the Citadel— despite the numerous lights and open, arching windows, and friendly staff— was a dark, history-laden place that Nyx preferred not to visit on a day off. Not since he had lived in the city for over a decade now, and had been stuck on that rotation through the portrait galleries and paintings of significant events and monuments. Not since the images there were all the judgemental features of the old kings, and the occasional image of an innocent, wide-eyed royal child. 

He preferred the smaller galleries dotting the city— the little exhibits that popped up in the pedestrian malls, the installations lining plazas and leading into parks. He preferred the open air events, where photographs and paintings and sculptures spill into the streets and lead the curious into the small galleries stacked on top of each other just off the main tourist districts. Where there were street artists and colourful sculptures scattered in parks and in plazas. Where the straight and uniform edges of Lucian tradition were bent and broken and experimented on with the bright smiles and enthusiasm of young artists just finding their own definitions in their history-laden city.

Finding this appreciation for Lucian art had been an accident. 

It had been raining, and he was just getting off a long shift at the Citadel as a guard, when he ducked into the first open shop to catch his eye. It had been quiet and dry, and he had wandered around curiously while he waited for the rain to die down. His boots had echoed through the empty rooms as he wandered, taking his time between glances out the windows to judge the downpour to stop when something bright or strange or familiar caught his eye. At that time, he hadn’t been thinking about what it was that he was looking at— the photos of the scrub and desert outside of the city, the wetlands and ocean further out into the kingdom. He didn’t think about lighting or composition or the challenge of the images he had stumbled across. He just wondered when the rain would stop and he could go home.

There wasn’t anything special that he could see. Nothing that he could appreciate as anything other than just a pretty picture. But a little pamphlet he had picked up mention that it was a gallery for the up-and-coming artists of Lucis, and that was enough to pique his curiosity. He admitted that he liked walking the quiet rooms, examining the ever-changing collection, on his fifth visit. 

On his third visit when he had ducked in through the familiar doors and left a couple of banknotes in the donation box by the door. On his fourth visit when he realised that there were more people than normal milling around the small exhibit rooms. On his fifth visit when he finally read the posters advertising a contest for the young Lucian artists the gallery specialised in. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Nyx wasn’t used to being questioned when he walked into the little gallery. He wasn’t used to having to manoeuvre around more than three people, either. He certainly wasn’t used to seeing the prince in a little place like this. 

“I could ask the same, your highness.” 

Noctis smiled, and Nyx watched the tension ease out of the prince’s shoulders; “I’m here for Prompto.”

“I guess he did this?” Nyx pointed to the photograph he had stopped in front of, the one that had seemed to be situated in a way to draw all the attention in the room. 

Nyx knew the place the picture had been taken. Knew the soft, worn couch in the Citadel gallery, beneath the painting of a very young Noctis smiling up at his father from a chair that was far too ornate for the prince’s personality. He knew the suit Noct wore in the photo, had seen it on him plenty of time, had taken it off him far too few times for his taste. But he knew the look of bored frustration on the prince in the photograph, and the way his fingers curled against the restrictions of a collar and tie, like they were pulling at a leash. 

“Yeah, said something about liking the lighting,” Noct offered a little shrug, not doing more than glancing at the image of himself. “The gallery insisted on putting it up here.”

“I guess a picture of the crown prince will win that contest.”

“That’s not the one he entered for it.”

“No? I think it’s lovely.” He had earned the smack to his arm just as much as Noct had earned the grin he got in return. “Where’s his entry?”

There was another room set up for the contest itself, smaller than the others, more intimate. Nyx slipped an arm around Noct’s waist to guide him through the crowd of judges as Noct directed him to the back walls. To where a photograph hung with Prompto’s name etched into a plaque beneath the frameless, mounted photograph. To where the landscapes and candid city shots were broken up by Prompto’s photo of the Citadel from the ravine beneath it. Of the orange sunset caught in the glow of the Wall, as Noct’s fishing equipment was set up under a tree in what appeared to be a haphazard pile. Where the shadows of the leaves blurred in movement from some breeze and the shimmer across the water reflected in the corner opposite of the Citadel’s shine and arches barley visible above the trees. Where Gladio’s latest book was spread open against Noct’s tackle box, and Prompto’s camera bag was balanced on the stack of lunch boxes Nyx knew would have been carefully selected by Ignis. 

“What do you think?” Noct asked once Nyx had seen the photo, had the chance to look over the strange mix of sunset and magic that painted the whole thing an almost foreboding shade despite the peace of it. 

“I think it’s nice,” he’s not sure what he thought of it. It was peaceful, intimate. “I like the portrait of you better.”

“You would.”

“You like this one?”

“It’s… It was a good day,” Nyx knew that little smile, he knew that soft look, he had seen it when Noct looked through his old photos of Galahd. “We hadn’t planned to go out at all. Not for as long as we had, anyway. Prompto took the picture just before we packed up to head home.”

If it weren’t for the people around them— the citizens who were used to seeing their prince out and around them, lending his name and his fame to these sorts of events— Nyx would have kissed Noct. Would have added his own affection to the happy memory Prompto had already drawn out. 

“Hope it wins, if it makes you this happy.”

“It won’t. Not with some of the others here. But it’s still my favourite.”


End file.
